Wrapping it up at Lacawac: A rewarding Leap of Faith

I'm writing this final post while in Concord, New Hampshire, visiting my brother before heading home. My second week of residency would have ended Friday, so I took the opportunity to leave a day early and have a good visit with him and his family.

My final days at Lacawac became a blur as I saw the end of my residency looming. I'd started a larger version of the small rhododendrons, but within a full morning's work on Wednesday it became overwrought and ultimately not what I intended at all. I am reminded - and it seems I needed the reminder - that my best work is more spontaneous. This one I'd started out sketched out in pencil to position the figures well on the canvas, with tension between them. Having started that way was the wrong turn. It's a weird piece that I'll either work more to try resurrecting it, or trash entirely. Not a waste of time, since as I already said, I needed the reminder.

On Wednesday I was visited by a collector (AA), who drove 4-1/2 hours to see my work in person. She was accompanied by my mother (they are long time friends, both sharing wanderlust tendencies) and both stayed the night. I served "high tea" in the Watres Lodge living room when they arrived that afternoon, then took them out to the studio. I'd brought a few paintings with me from home, which I'd hung on the studio wall. She noticed the Wickecheoke Creek piece right away, having recognized it as a favorite from my website, and said it was even better in person. She also really liked the water lily paintings that I'd done there at Lacawac.

We had a long conversation about how different everything looks when backlit by a monitor, and how color would be different from one device to another. (The same image file that I download to my website is seen completely different on my laptop than on my cell phone.) The paintings are more nuanced in person.

We all enjoyed a walk on a short trail, a canoe ride on the lake, then a hearty dinner. Heidi and Shannon joined us for the meal and we sat around the table talking for two hours about life and art, experiences, expectations, and yearnings. With Heidi and Shannon in the early 30's, and my guests nearly 80, I sat comfortably in the middle, providing a bridge. Exhausted by 10pm, we all headed to our rooms, knowing I'd be packing up early the next morning.

AA decided to take Wickecheoke Creek home with her since it was the one she liked best, and to see if it would fit in with her home and other art pieces; and if it didn't agreed to have me bring other pieces to her for more consideration. They headed out by 10am.

Craig and Heidi took possession of the 8x8" rhododendron painting in trade for part of my residency fees; we took a few photos for posterity, then I packed up  and was on the road by 11am.

I'd just arrived in Concord when I got a call from AA that Wickecheoke Creek was a perfect fit, and she'd written a check already.

Over the 6-1/2 hour drive to Concord I thought long and hard about my two week experience, and knew that my earliest predictions had come to pass. Ups and downs: good paintings and bad, loneliness and company, cold and warm, clear skies and rain. The best part is that I took a leap of faith to focus on making new work and that leap was rewarded. The unexpected bonus is that of the 8 paintings I made at Lacawac three have already been purchased.

I look forward to showing the Water Lilly paintings at upcoming venues this fall, the first being the Art All Day Studio Tour on November 4th - just one week away. Those three were my best work there, and I'm glad to be able to show them together.

Day 9: Change of Pace

Rain had been promised for the next two days, and yesterday morning started with light spitting among the falling leaves and acorns. Nonetheless, I headed down the trail with a small painting kit in my backpack, a chair slung to it and a water bucket in hand. Didn't get too far (1/2 mile maybe) before I found what I was hunting, a nice pair of leggy rhododendrons facing each other and entangled across opposite banks of a dry creek bed. These twisted characters are all over the Lacawac property, in large and small clusters, all sporting only the briefest greenery near their tops. I'm told that the deer graze the leaves, giving the uniform appearance. With a quick sketch in  paint done and the spitting heavier, I headed back to the studio. The 8x8" panel became a slower-paced piece than what I have been doing, with a finer, smaller brush and tighter lines. The greenery didn't interest me at all, just the twisting trunks and branches. Though the day was grey, and the woods generally grey-green, I rendered the two characters in a fairly monochrome but bright palette. I joked on social media that I thought of the exercise as cross training, which is actually quite true. Bringing it all in tighter just prior to opening back up into a large canvas has worked well for me in the past. In any case, I like the resulting study well enough, and as luck would have it I dreamt the larger piece last night which I'll start today.

Yesterday afternoon found me on the phone and computer for a few hours, attending to general bookkeeping issues back home and creating an invoice for the big painting sale. About 6 months ago I signed up for a Square account, so requesting and receiving payments has been very easy.

This morning found me up early, shopping for tomorrow's visitor's meals, starting a beef stew, doing laundry, and attending to this blog. Off now to the studio.

The sheathed knife was my nod to anything can happen on the trail,

but in the end I only used it to scrape dry paint off a tube, and to

cut rope for lashing the chair to the back. Useful enough for one day!

Day 8: Sunday Move

The past few days moved at a clip and grew together a bit as my earlier routine was upheaved. The family visit was wonderful though, and they all liked the place a lot. We shared a canoe ride on the lake in the late morning, Sunday, before they packed up and headed home. I worked in the studio for a while afterward, moved forward with the big water lily painting before I took it over the proverbial ledge and have been struggling with it since. I will leave it alone today, wanting more generous company, and head into the woods instead with some small wood panels for quick sketches of tree roots and boulders.

By 3pm yesterday I was worn out in the studio so turned my attention to vacating the Ice House and moving into the Watres Lodge, room 5. Clean up was quick and the move only 30 or so yards from door to door. I settled in quickly and had a chat with the other artist (Shannon Gilbert) who will also be here for the next week. I've also decided to leave on Thursday afternoon, a day early, so that I can drive to New Hampshire for the weekend. I haven't seen my brother's family for a year which for anyone you love is too long. His kids are young, and time is precious. My brother and sister-in-law have been very supportive of my work; they own pieces from over my entire 30+ year art-making trajectory so have a better collection of it than anyone other than me.

Shannon, Heidi, and I had a short chat before heading off for the evening, and reconvened for a shared meal at 7:30ish. Our after-meal conversation took us into and over personal, scholastic, artistic, and revelatory content. I'm 20 years older than they but that seemed less of a divide than an opportunity to share a wider perspective, and to bring some light and order to what one might see or experience as chaos. I'm practicing my inner/future crone.

A repeat client/friend texted me to say she wanted to purchase one of the water lily paintings. When I prompted her to choose soon so that she would have first pick of the four, she chose the 8x8" wood panel piece.  At $200 it was intended to be affordable, and to help me pay for the Ice House, which it will. I spoke with Shannon and Heidi quite a bit about how I manage the marketing and pricing of my work, and they spoke about what their experience and understandings have been, including the lack of or strange conversation in schools about what selling art could entail.

As a result of the dinner conversation, I made a connection (not for the first time) between my early sculpture and my current paintings, especially in regards to when one thinks the work over time lacks continuity.
At left - Untitled Landscape, 1986. Bronze approx. 42" high x 108" wide x 18" deep. Installed/Property of Walt Whitman High School, Bethesda, MD.
At bottom - "Forsythia on the Creek" 2016, 18x36" acrylic on canvas. Available.

Day 6 and 7: Studies and A Sale

Thursday and Friday proved very busy over a variety of activities including a lot of conversations with visitors, documenting and marketing my work here. Friday afternoon found me navigating correspondence with a client over a 4 hour time difference and two days before the sale was confirmed. I took video of the painting, showing details, so they would have a better idea of the work. Buying artwork should not come with any surprises; I  wanted them to know what they were getting.
"Ariel Creek" will be sent to Seattle within a few months time, to accommodate the client's payment plan and my framing it up which is additional time/materials/charge. It is nice that although they are still fairly new at collecting art, they are familiar with the time and effort it takes to make it all go right. A better process for everyone that way too.

I finished three 11x14" on linen of the water lilies; studies that are complete in their way. Started and finished an 8x8" on board as a study for a 20x20" on linen that I started yesterday. With the studies, I worked on two different grounds to get a sense of things, using a rich but translucent Indian Yellow on one, and a Cadmium Red with a bit of Pane's Grey in it for the other. For the bigger one I chose a translucent Pane's Grey and put down the composition and values in white and grey over it.  The first wash of color over it seemed bright, so I'll continue with it today (Sunday).

 

My husband and three children (23, twins 20) and a boyfriend (25) came to visit Saturday afternoon, spending the night here in the Ice House with me after a long day of canoeing while I was in the studio, and a hike before nightfall that I joined, then dinner. They brought and prepared everything, which was a different operation than I am used to. It also took a while for me to be used to having so many people around! They all loved this place as I thought they would, and are gung-ho for a future, bigger family event in the future.

A group of students and their professor and other staff from University of the Sciences in Philadelphia arrived late Friday night to stay in the Watres Lodge. I had a nice early morning conversation with them, and a studio visit later in the day.

I handed out a lot of postcards on Saturday, to about 10 visitors (couples/groups) and have a possible sale coming from one of the couples who recently built a house nearby. There was lot back and forth as to how/why I am here making paintings. Someone asked if I was famous. I told them that I hoped to be one day, but not necessarily in the Manhattan art scene way, just financially independent because of steady art sales. Another suggested I attend Rittenhouse Square's Art Festival next fall, which I said I am already considering; they said they are regulars and would look for me there. Also had several conversations about what my "work" really entails, besides and over and above the making of paintings. I have found that marketing and administration takes up 2/3 of my total time attending to this re-boot of my career.

Haven't slept well in three nights.

I'll be moved to the Watres Lodge sometime later today, for the duration of my stay, joined by Heidi and another artist. Am expecting a possible sale mid-week, as a collector is driving all the way from Delaware to see this new work in person. I will admit that the amount of interest is a little intimidating, but this is what I am asking for so will meet my own challenge. It also reminds me (which I don't really need reminding of) how valuable a gallery relationship would be.

Am considering driving up to New Hampshire for a two day visit before heading home on Sunday. It depends on what piece/pieces I'm working on by then and how that's going. My time here is invaluable, I know, and I'm balancing that with knowing I will not have time off again until next summer.

Day 5: Visitors

More people here at the complex on Thursday than all those that I'd seen since Sunday put together. Several families with young children stepped into the studio to say hello; Craig L (VP of the Sanctuary) was in the big lodge getting it ready for this weekend's group and we had a nice chat; my sister and mother arrived around noon having driven 3-1/2 hours for the visit; and the day was rounded out sharing a glass of wine under the dark sky with a couple of women who'd come here to attend a nearby meeting and would spend the night in the big lodge. I was glad for company!

My sister Tina is a soulfully creative person, more so than I, truly. We spoke about spending a few days here together next year, which I'd really like. Her quirky photography, found and natural objects weaving, and intimate site installations should come together in an exhibit one day: A dual residency, and an exhibit for the results.

All the welcome interruptions kept me mostly out of the studio but I did complete the big canvas "Ariel Creek, October" the scene from below St. Mary's Church Road bridge looking out toward Lake Wallenpaupack. The painting came close to overwrought in places, and I'm keen on other parts, so all in all it seemed time to walk away, consider it done. In the late afternoon after my family visit was over, I did a 10 minute study on an 11x16 of the water lilies in Lake Lacawac. Today I'll do more of them, painting from the hip, then a 30x40 which I hope to create as a looser piece, more in kind with "Forsythia on the Creek". Big goal for tomorrow morning is to hike down to the Ledges with a couple of small boards before my husband and our kids arrive for the weekend.

Completed "Ariel Creek, October" 20x60" acrylic on linen:

Day 4: An Angled Companion

Late to bed and late to rise, it seems 8:30 is my internal waking time. I've elected for no alarms, and so without noise outside either, I've been opening my eyes completely rested and ready for the day. Yesterday's morning coffee, and several other times as I stretched my legs from the easel, I was met with the eyes of a young buck not more than 30 feet away. It seems this acre is his too. I'd seen him each other day once or twice, but yesterday he was closer and maybe less hidden as he strolled through the trees or lay in a patch of sun throughout the day. He's sporting a one-horn rack, one side cantilevered over his right eye like a jaunty hat line, pointing the way for him to make a constant circle so maybe he's trapped on this acre.
I spent the whole day in the studio, pushing the 20x30" piece that I started yesterday, and my comfort levels, then pushing more. It went to the ledge then over it, and I've hauled most of it back up with good result. I'm hoping to have it mostly finished today.

Had a good long chat with Roy, the Lacawac man responsible for the renovation in the Ice House last year. He gave me some history of the place from a personal perspective as he'd known Arthur Watres well. He's been the only visitor on a consistent basis as he comes and goes for work in this immediate complex. A couple of young girls (college?) were here for a few hours for a research project, and several cars went by during the day on the way to the pond dock for sample readings. The boats at the dock invite a ride on the water but I am reluctant to do so alone; looking forward to doing so this Saturday when the family comes visiting for an overnight.

Am expecting my sister and Mother to visit today for a few hours. A big investment (7 hours round trip) for the opportunity to egg me on, to see this location, and to consider it for a future family event.
The sun is out again today, no clouds at all. Planning to explore Heron Lake and the Ledges tonight.

Day 3: Dreamt Brushstrokes

Got a lot done yesterday, engaging some discipline to keep going when the day seemed done. Because the trees hold back so much light here, by 3pm it seemed dark in my studio where I'd been working on a 30x30 that I'll call "Lawrence Oak" based on a tree I pass every work-day; it may well be a maple, so I'll have to check that out.
Having taken some photos yesterday morning at the bridge over Ariel Creek, near where it engages Lake Wallenpaupak, I returned to the site at 5pm with a 20x60" canvas, primed and sketched out. I hauled a small kit down the steep grassy slope to the wet field below, and set up my easel within an array of deep animal tracks and scat. My companions were a couple of jays that make a constant ruckus in the opposite river bank. The painting went well and as I worked the sun hit the shore on the opposite side of the lake which I could see through the trees on either side of the mouth of the creek. I'll head out there this morning to keep going. My intent is to push some detail into this piece while keeping sweeping brushstroke, which I think I an do at this scale.
As I fell asleep last night, I dreamt brushstrokes, which I found annoying as I was tired and ready for sleep. My evening prior had me reading and studying my Group of Seven book, mining it for a lesson or two on restraint.
Near sunset I had returned and packed up the studio for the night, and was enjoying a hot cup of tea on the porch when a perky hiker about my age came by. She seemed happy enough to be snagged as a walking companion and we strode the rocky paths at a nice clip for about an hour, chatting about like-aged kids, real estate, art, and being middle aged. Her path continued as the sun was going down so I headed back before my return would become darkened. Feeling as I'd earned it well, my steak and mushrooms dinner with a glass of wine was welcome, with a laptop-sized movie, and then more reading.
Seems I'm getting the hang of the social media thing, having put some relevant hashtags on my Instagram. All evening and this morning I had unfamiliar Instagrammers looking at my feed, most from this region. It did give me the creeps a bit as a paranoid thought about having broadcast my general location making me vulnerable. My camp/hunting knife was by my bed all night.

Ariel Creek site:

"Lawrence Oak"

Day 2, Sun

Hadn't known I was so tired. Slept 10 hours for the third night in a row, waking once at 4:30. Did I give myself permission to oversleep? The virtual absence of anyone else's needs and schedule intersecting mine must be a key to this state. In any event, I am rested. The sun is out steadily (having not shown itself through the cloud cover for more than moments at a time yesterday) and so I will go for a drive and look more closely at a spot that caught my eye on Sunday. Yesterday's painting was a struggle as I have not figured out the best studio-lighting-to-easel orientation yet. It's a 30x30" linen, and I'll attend to it again after some fresh air. It is more evident to me now that I've been spending my painting's requisite drying times attending to household chores; without those in front of me, I may start a second or even third painting and work on them all together. Not sure if I can work that way. I took a small canvas and paint kit down the road yesterday around 4:00 to catch the bit of sun hitting the lake. From the road the air through the screen of trees seemed a grey-green with an grey-apricot haze here and there. So windy and cold that I abandoned the effort after a quick slap-down of underpainting and a few photos. Call me fickle; I like to be warm when I paint.

Some spilled tea near my cell phone must have stuck to its lens resulting in this ghostly image of the studio. I like it!

Lacawac Residency, Studio Log: Day 1

Wind is shivering the grounded leaves below a colorful canopy, and though this morning is chilled, the report is for a glorious day and rest of the week. I have not been alone for years. This residency - two weeks to make paintings and otherwise as I like - looms on this Day 1 morning like an anticipated joy ride, likely with as many ups as downs. I arrived yesterday at 2:45. The Ice House was open, clean and cozy. The Carriage House was open too, with lots of table and chairs strewn about, projecting some recent activity there. The Lacawac liason, Heidi, met me on the road then gave me a brief tour including a short hike down to the lake and a rapid-fire report on the highlights to be had - especially sunrise on the lake as beavers are there at that time - made sure I had keys, and reported on what to expect for other's coming to the lodge area over the next week. It seems I'm to be mostly alone for the week save for the hikers passing by. We said our good-nights and then I set to unpacking the van and setting up my studio. Pushing a large table to one corner of the house (area is about 10x15) and putting all chairs to the other end, I put my easel facing two corner windows, and set out my paints. Two days ago I purchased a contractor's grade, adjustable 3-panel LED light stand, and it seems to put out the right kind of light to augment whatever comes in through the trees, and might extend my painting day. During my 2-1/2 hour drive here yesterday, the sun finally made its appearance 15 minutes before I arrived. It's overcast now, but I'll go for a drive soon to seek and intercept some first morning sun. If you want to read about the Lacawac Field Sanctuary, its history and programs: www.lacawac.org Here is my studio, and the old entranceway to the lodges:

Sharing some thoughts that I expressed in a LinkedIn chat room about art making when its hard to do so. It felt good to put it in writing. This having followed a spurt of posting portfolio work from early 80's to late 90's, and seeing a thread between works that had seemed disparate. "There was a time, about 20 years ago, when I was making, exhibiting, selling my art and I had a good momentum, and was building a good platform both aesthetically with abstract works, and philosophically. Finding a way to continue that while raising a family proved difficult though, and despite a good run at simply redefining what I made (size and material wise) according to shrunken time and space, I was unable to continue for the long haul. Although I know many who have managed to keep a balance and have success at both career and the complex system that is home and family building, my energy to do so just wasn't there so I chose to focus on the latter. Picking up the baton now is proving difficult. I've made the space and have increasing time, but what I've realized is that I cannot pick up the same baton that I put down because I am simply not the same person, don't have the same perspectives that I once did, and my body has changed in ways that don't matter until I try to hold a brush for an extended time. Although I will admit to some embarrassment at having done so, I've returned to the representational landscape as a familiar "comfort food" just to get working again, hoping that in hindsight I may well see or make a connection that makes sense." Postscript: A bonus to the posting of portfolio work was a thought about how landscapes as an art form were an early, daily experience, through my mother's own watercolors of the Canada wilderness. No wonder I'm drawn to the Group of Seven.

Reclaiming Spaces

There's a layer of bright red plastic tile board gleaming through a crack in my new studio wall, the latter layer having been revealed after taking down our old kitchen. Under the nasty white formica counter walls was a beautiful fir clapboard, nontheworse for wear once we took the mastic off, gave it a cleaning then a coat of stain. That it doesn't match anything else in the room is no matter. It was sound, nice looking, and required less work to leave than to change, especially once we noticed the red tile underneath; can of worms, that!
Above the clapboard was a mish mosh of plywood which we've covered with homosote for a huge expanse of bulletin board. Below that, attached to the clapboard, is a deep shelf made of a thick board recycled from the old bar, and handmade brackets from the same stock hold it up. All this hovers over a big old wood drafting table, which came to us via a sculptor friend, now deceased, many years ago.
I approach this space with mixed feelings. It's going to take some time for it to feel like mine - the comings and goings of the family though this wide hall will prevent a kind of art-making privacy that I've known in the past, but I'm hopeful that it will inform my work in a positive way. I'd like to think that the streak of red peeking out at me will remind daily that what was once hidden can be seen again, what was old can be new; that having my own space again will provide an opportunity to reclaim a part of me that's been on hold, and that doing so will reveal some exciting horizons.

paint and pancakes

Paint and pancakes. Neither one was on my dinner table at the same time in the past months, but they may as well have been for the fast paced activity on that surface. Coffee, homework, tools, calendar, bills, receipts, a meal, a catologue, a napping cat, all rotating in quick succession; my eyes seeing a kind of harmony in it under the more obvious dissarray.

The momentary high that we all felt at "moving in" to the renovated space has moved on, replaced by the dread of miscellaneous small jobs crowding for attention now. A bit of spackle here and there looms a daunting task, more so somehow than the larger project ever did!

A few unfinished cupboard shelves hang agape, staring down at the pantry goods awaiting their home. I avert my eyes as I make breakfast, reaching for flour, cinnamon, baking soda from the crowded countertop. For now it's conveniently hiding the area still needing a finish trim.

Haunts

About fifteen years ago, while number one was still a baby, I'd been working on a series of small paintings that I titled Private Property. The intent was to continue making work that spoke to my internal dialogue about physical boundaries in a metaphorical way, illustrating ideas about my sculptural vessels as landscape installations. Though I was aware at the time of the project's complexity on some level, it is with additonal time that I've come to appreciate more of its nuances as they relate to my history at large.

When I was three years old, my mother moved my sisters and me to her mother's home following what I've come to understand was for her an emotionally harrowing married life. Her mother's home provided a safe haven for all of us. Indeed, it was a home away from home for myriad people on an almost daily basis, as a private school for elementary age children. It's been suggested that there along with the many children of priviledge attending there were also children who simply couldn't do well anywhere else. It was an unconventional school and a stimulating environment with lots of animals, artifacts, and artwork in every room of its sprawling footprint. My grandmother's residence there had been allowed by virtue of her endowed principalship and willingness to make it her work-based home. It was a school and it was a home, yet it was neither simply nor wholly one or the other for me.

About five years into our now ten plus years here on Boxwood Avenue I became keenly aware that I'd been drawn to the property in most part because I'd been somehow familiar with its former use as a largely public property. For many years it was a bar/club downstairs, the owners living in a vast apartment upstairs; plenty of room for its family of four. We're five, and still, plenty of room, though our stuff takes up many of the corners that once stored beer. As an artist, its derelict state when I first saw it didn't deter my fast forming notions of how it could look one day. I saw it renovated, with possibilities for a studio, big social gatherings, lots of artwork on the walls, and plenty of room for sprawling teenage legs.

I believe that some homes have their haunts, and this one would illustrate that - there's energy still here from all those who stopped regularly after work for a beer, met with dates, or stayed a while to chat with neighbors. I can feel them more than ever before now that I'm just about ready to finish the renovation of what was once the bar. The as yet empty space between its new walls seems to echo with old conversations, shadows cast long ago seem to crawl against its corners.

It's not lost on me that my public vs. private dialogue is ongoing. There is some small celebrity in being here, and early on I heard many stories of its past from neighbors, passersby, and an occasional visitor seeking its former owners. This is undeniably my home, but the place is still very much the neighborhood's as well, and I would not deny that history. I've invited these people in during different phases of construction, watched their faces as they tried to reconcile their full memories with the shell of a room.

Long ago, before I married and had children, I made a spur of the moment visit to the old school. Though a Saturday, the place was bustling with activity, obviously an important day with parents and children milling all around. I approached someone to introduce myself, though I had no agenda other than the one I made up at the moment. That someone was, remarkably, a teacher I had known, who knew me and the special connection I had to the property. I was given a tour, recognized many objects between the building's walls, reconciled some of my memories with what I recognized, and felt definitely not at home. Several years later I visited again, just to show my children the place. No longer a school, the new owners had nontheless kept the original school sign, installed a plaque recognizing the building's history, paid homage to its former patron's memories.

Here on Boxwood Avenue, our big room will soon be receiving a different level of life than it's seen in many years. Its protracted days of being a storage area are at an end, and it's time to fill it with our own energy; time to put some private life into its public memory. I wish that whoever took the old bar sign off the place, just hours after we signed for ownership, knew that I'd be a sensitive caretaker of its history. Despite my many hours of painting a new coat of blue on the brick this past summer, I stopped short of painting over the shadow of where the old bar sign had been. As much a nod to the building's history, it was to my own as well, accepting and even celebrating a duality that is at once private and public, difficult and dear.

New Year, New Space

Our first floor renovation serves as a good physical reminder of all the worry, promise and hope I hold for the year. Though the room is nearly complete, still yet there are buckets of paint, stacks of wood, and miscellaneous tools standing resignedly shoulder to shoulder with walls just beginning to fortell upholstered chairs, cozy rugs, napping cats, and comfortable domestic disarray.

With all the hardest work done and the walls ready for decisions as to their final dressings, it is a surprisingly uncomfortable relationship I have with the empty space between them. I have courted its possibilities too long perhaps, envisioned them too precisely not to feel a disruption; I've made room for its haunts! The stories I've heard, the room's very public nature way before we ever knew it, have come to life now that life is back in the room.

The promise of renewed life in the big room is running paralell to my decision to rededicate myself to making art again. Stating this publicly is as bold a move as taking on a renovation - everyone can see whether it will move forward or not, there's no hiding the project one way or another. But I've decided to plug away at it again, take the chance that the vision I once held for my career might actually one day round its own corner out of rough construction.

The new year and the new space are both promising opportunities for growth; revisited, redesigned, rededicated.


PS - A future post might talk about how the public/private space issue is a recurring theme in my personal history, and why this might be.
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Pottery Shards, Science Projects, and Fleas

Had one heck of a morning the other day, it seemed to last a day and a half.

My right arm has been in a sling for a couple of weeks because I wrenched my elbow something awful when the spade bit I was using to put a hole in a 4x4 (for the boys' chin up station in the yard) got bound up in the wood, the powerful drill twisting my arm out and around. It's been hard not being allowed to do much of anything with it, being that I generally want to everything myself so that it's done right. But the kids are making their own lunches, helping with dishes, taking the dog out, and being generally helpful if not completely into it.

Mother had driven north to help out for a few days and she really pampered me all the way; made lemon grass soup even. She washed dishes endlessly, made me really see how many I usually do in a day, and drove me around town to take care of oil changes, bank deposits, grocery shopping, etcetera. Sleeping in the livingroom on the futon bed, never once complained about a lack of privacy, not a word against the dog's tags clanging in the night, the cats' pouncing during their play in the wee hours. Best, she didn't point out how I was generally a bad patient, not patient at all with my situtation. I can learn a lot from her general grace, and should, and well.
She also helped me to fetch Paul home on Wednesday after he stumbled in band class and got a chair leg jammed into his crotch. Poor kid slept for three hours when we got home.

Time came for her to head home though, and for me to go back to work, which we each did if more than a bit reluctantly. There was some talk about her coming back this weekend.

The week went fairly well, and Paul got ready for his weekend scout campout, and by Wednesday evening he was completely ready. Alex and Adrian would each be at a sleepover one night, and it was a long weekend, with no school Monday. Sounded nice. Wednesday night though, Alex discovered fleas on Pippin and in her room and had a fit. I went to get the vacuum - it was still broken, what was I thinking, and had been for since just before my elbow incident. Tried to manage the situation, calm her down, etc. Would have to move her downstairs for the night.

Thursday was supposed to go like this:
Alex up at 5:15 am to spend 1 hour and 28 minutes getting ready for school, 2 minutes eating breakfast, then out the door at 7:00 for the bus. Me up at 6:20 to wake the boys. Fred up at 6:30. Make Alex's smoothy, boys' lunches and breakfast on the table by 6:45. Yell at boys to hurry up at 6:55. Yell up to Alex "are you on time?" at 6:56. Boys out the door at 7:20, Fred on their heels. Quiet house by 7:30. Off to work by 8:30. Pizza planned for dinner because it was Fred's class night, boys' scout night, and back to school night at the middle school.

This is how it went:
Got call during work that Adrian had injured his finger. Told him to be brave, it was just his left finger and the nurse had assured me that it wasn't swollen or black and blue - tough it out.
Kids ate half the pizza as soon as they got home from school. Hardly any left for dinner.
Fred ate leftovers, went off to class. Alex continued fussing about fleas and wondering very loudly about why we didn't have a working vacuum and that it was just great that she'd be alone that night to contend with life alone.
Adrian didn't want to go to scouts, his finger was swollen and a bit black and blue; after being told he would not be allowed to watch tv or video games instead, he got ready for scouts.
Stopped at the grocery store having handed the boys $5 to go get the candy that they were required to bring in to science class next day, dropped the boys off at scouts, stopped at Walgreens for a finger splint and a new cold pack, and a cherry coke to fortify me (self prescribed Rx, the cherry being the important ingredient, Cherry Garcia not being anywhere around).
I drove back to school night, arriving late, so had to park 1/4 mile away from the school. Got asked many times "what did you DO to your arm?" Found out from science teacher that niether son had turned in their first assigned project. Left early to go pick up boys from scouts. Got stopped on way out by PTA friend who after saying hello reminded me that yes, we have to be ON TOP of some of our kids, after all the boys are not Alex (who never needed being on top of) and that after all WE are all premenapausal, so maybe I ought to take some Xanax like she does.
Finally got to scout meeting, boys both happy for just moments because then (OK, BAD TIMING) asked them about that science project, told them they MUST have it completed at school next day or no camping or sleepover. HARD LINE MOM moment. Once home, realized impossible to enforce because materials were at school. Kids showered and in bed by 9:30. Alex on futon in livingroom, fussing, by 11pm.

Friday morning:
I woke suddenly choking with hairspray in my throat at 5:30am because Alex was preparing herself in the tiny downstairs bathroom rather than in her upstairs, well ventilated room.
The boys woke soon after because that just fit.
Alex fussing about fleas until she left for bus.
Paul dropped and broke his favorite cereal bowl, a nice cerulean blue mug with an M&M character on it, given to him by Alex about five years ago. Real tears shed. My Silent Prayer: Thank God it was him that done broke the thing.

I called Mother by 8am, grateful for some time to talk because I would be going into work late that morning. She calmed me right down, providing insight into the humorous aspects of my day-and-a-half-long morning. "You should write about this in your blog" she said.

PS - Paul home after school, proud that he'd managed to do his science project during study hall, and had put it on his teacher's desk. Adrian had worked on it, but not finished it, and had left it at school. Got Fred to drive Adrian back to the school for his project. I took Paul to meet the campers, thinking we'd be there early enough to help with last minute packing. Enjoyed the peace and quiet of yellow leaves skittering on the tarmac in the breeze, branches against a blue, blue sky. Campers arrived at 6pm and later (departure at 6pm said the paperwork). Realized Paul needed a coat - they'd be up near the Delaware Water Gap. Called Fred, he ran it over, then turned right around to take Alex to swim team. Alex home by 9:15pm. Adrian and I got Chinese food and three Redbox movies. Laundered Alex's blankets while we watched an old Harrison Ford in the last Indian Jones movie.

Big, big sigh at around 10pm.
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Best Intentions

On facebook, yesterday afternoon, I posted that I had gotten paint on my brand new jeans, despite better intentions. Toni liked it, and I was glad because she's one that I could count on to get all that the statement stood for.

Alex has just about given up on me, her sense of style propriety insulted too many times by my lack of same. She was about two and a half years old when I took her shopping for a nice summer party dress. Standing in the aisle with a light blue and pink striped searsucker slipped over her t-shirt and tights, she suddenly twirled around on her toes to see its skirt fly out. I didn't teach her that, and you gotta know, I wouldn't have. But there it was, undeniable. Alex was more girly than I, and she cared about clothes. Much older now, the distressing in her jeans leaves me a little distressed, but she assures me it's cool, and she wouldn't dream of sewing any of it. She has such confidence in this assessment, and it shows in her overall stance which is such that she could wear anything and look good.

Distressed Jeans Economy:
The Right Brand at Upper Crust Store: starting on sale at $30, and going up to $100 and some of them have had paint applied to them already, For Effect.
At upper crust thrift store Plato's Closet: about $20, many with tattering that identifies them in the upper echelons of tattered styling, and which earns them special placement in the store, front and center.
At my favorite thrift store Red White and Blue: about $7

Which leaves me grateful that the boys are still just fine with RWB jeans, which look brand new in just the right distressed way, and where the $10 still-with-tags Ralph Lauren's hang right next to the $4 Levi's.

The truth is, I didn't actually get paint on my jeans. Because they were brand new, the result of a gift card spending spree, rather dark blue, and markedly untattered, I was very, very careful while wielding a paint brush at the wall. I imagined my daughter's sigh.

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A bit about Mud Wasps, Outhouses, and Eggs

My sisters and I spent summers in the country, bare chested and bare footed, among towering trees, wild grapes, and lots of room for our very young selves to roam. Our grandparents had built a complex of rough recycled barnwood buildings, decorated with wavy blue trim and quite cozy. They resided in the main cabin (special because it had kerosene lamps, and the wood stoves) and a row of storage sheds capped at one end by a cabin had built-in bunk beds for the kids. Highlights included outdoor baths in the big zinc covered steel tub, neighbors bringing us baskets of still hot tomatoes, which we ate with such relish the juice ran down our chests to our shorts, science lessons we'd get whenever an injured or dead beast was found on the property, the celebrity we enjoyed with inevitable black and blue toe stubbings, and the promise of a comforting hug if we dodged our way to the main cabin through a particularly scary thunderstorm.

Few ammenities were provided though none of us felt the burden of it really. Our playground was vast and wild, and we were wonderfully scared at the prospect of a late night trek down to the outhouse flashlight in hand, waving it back and forth across the path to fend off Indians or foxes or wayward criminals which we were certain lay in wait along the path or down inside the outhouse itself.

The outhouse was far less ominous during the day. Mud wasps could be watched during our visits, making their row homes steadily each day all summer long. I'd sit there watching them spit out their mouthfulls onto the painted wood slats, just inches away from the budget toilet paper and the heavily pine oil scented block hanging nearby. The passing of summer could be measured by the size of their complexes.

Early mornings were measured by the amount of dew on the spider webs that tented the leaves on the ground. Still silver meant that one might have a chance at finding my grandmother at the potbelly stove for a fried egg in the small yellow enamel fry pan. It would have been a special treat, joining her privately like that, and worth waking early for.

I'm Scared 'A You

The photos we took of our home when we first bought it have been shuffled deeply for a long time, escaping the inevitable scornful appraisal I'd have given them. Once a very public place in its tenure as a private bar, and one would think fairly well tended, it was derelect when I found it, including the modest garden which was quite overgrown, diseased, and choked with poison ivy.

Not one to be easily dissuaded, and certainly not from the vision of the completed project that had been growing in my imagination, I spent many of those early days outside, kids toddling around nearby, ripping out that ivy, cutting down shrubs, moving spidery azaleas, and amending soil everywhere. I discovered an entire half of the garden lurking behind the initial wall of closely planted, spider-mite infested hemlocks. Down they came, revealing a crumbling edge to the garden, railroad ties decomposed and about two feet of precious space layed waste to erosion.

New project: retaining wall. After those hemlocks were cut down, I spent the better part of two weeks with an axe, shovel, and pickaxe at my side as I ripped their solid stumps from the soil. The neighbors across the street would watch from their porch, beers in hand, easy conversation steady. They'd moved in just a month after we did, so were new to the area too. In her mid fifties, Martha told me that in her younger days, yard work was a way of life and she missed her garden, had fun watching me at mine. Her son, a huge, dark headed guy with a booming voice in his mid thirties, would watch too, often yelling out "I'm scared 'a you!" because of the way I'd throw myself into my daunting tasks. It always made me smile, proud and cocky in my achievements.

The garden is rather pretty now, ten years later. Broad, curving lines of bricks show off the perennial bed borders, a few of those original azaleas filled out, and grass covers where the kids enjoyed muddy escapades.

Martha died several years ago, falling victim to a swift intestinal cancer. I created a painted chair in her honor with a stylized lilly of the valley on its seat. Her son moved back in a couple of years later, to keep his dad company, and I hear his booming voice daily, most often in conversation over his cell phone. Though I couldn't picture myself doing quite such hard work again, bad back and all that, it's a good feeling knowing that I once did, easily and with pleasure, and accolades.

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Siblings

The relationship I have with my sisters has become the essential fertilizer in many of my life adventures. Despite our differences, which seem to fade over the years, we've found common ground in our parenting, travels, and daily worries. Knowing this has given me strength when I might have given up, coupled as it may be with simply not wanting to appear less than fully capable in their eyes. A relationship with my brother has proven just as deep, if not tended to with the same regularity.

Watching my daughter and sons cultivate their bonds this summer, finally getting past (at least for now) the often vicious tauntings that colored most of their conversations last spring, has been very rewarding. Whether or not the complete and utter boredom I offered them for several weeks this summer led them to it, in the end they own this new freedom with eachother. Several days of Monopoly, Life, and Battleship games in front of the floor fan was the cultivator.

The easy banter and laughter in the ride home after an unexpectedly short day at the beach was the bloom.

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EAD, not EET

It tickled my funny bone, but as many things that do, it was also fairly obscure. I'm talking about the name of my blog Boxwood Beadle, which has several layers of meaning for me. My sister Tina pointed out that maybe I ought to address that.

When I was about thirteen years old, my mother was assigned to write an article about Longwood Gardens in Pennyslvania. A well known and beautifully manicured topiary garden, its lush, dark green, sculpted boxwood bushes took many forms from simply towering columnar hedges to smaller, ankle brushing animal form creations among the lawns. The day we went, likely a hot summer day since my siblings and I were along for the ride, the boxwoods were dripping with japanese beetles. Time has sculpted my memory of the day to focus on the horrific experience of regularly shaking the shimmering beasts out of my unfashionable, thrift store pants cuffs as we made our winding way through the windless, humid garden. This, coupled with the strong, cat-piss aroma of the boxwoods, gave me a lifetime distaste for boxwoods of any form, proudly sculpted or otherwise.

A few days ago, while I was contemplating a title for this blog, I wanted to reference my current home, so looked up the word boxwood (ironically, our sidestreet's name.) Up came a lovely, red and black insect called the boxwood beetle, which apparently is completely harmless, except to boxwoods. Aha! That appealed to me. From there, I recalled from somewhere deep in my mind the archaic word beadle, which means herald, so there I had it; Boxwood Beadle.

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